


Some Advice

by hanktalkin



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 19:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: happy father's day





	Some Advice

Mick didn’t think anyone would find him up here.

He was mostly right. The bullies had passed by his tree three times without ever looking up, before finally quitting to go find someone else small and scrawny to pummel on. He was safe, for the moment, but that left him in quite another problem: he couldn’t get down.

So it was a good thing he wasn’t completely hidden, otherwise Mr. Mundy never would have found him.

“Mickey? That you up there?”

The embarrassment made him kick his legs nervously, swaying the branch as he did. “…Hi Dad.”

Mr. Mundy could have asked a lot of things, like what he was doing up there, why didn’t he holler for someone sooner, where the hell had he gotten the bruise on his cheek…But although each of those questions must have turned in the man’s mind, he didn’t say any of them. He just sighed, and said, “stay right there son. I’ll go get a ladder.”

Mick could have replied that he didn’t really have a choice, but since they were in the process of not saying things that were on their minds, he kept it to himself.

It didn’t take long for Mr. Mundy to go to the house and grab a ladder, nor to climb up and help Mick out. What _did_ seem to take ages was Mr. Mundy coming back down, step by agonizing step, finally plopping Mick back on the brittle outback grass. Usually Mick felt better with his parents than anyone else, (since they weren’t as buff and burly as the other Australians that lived in their county) but all it took was for his father to lift a boy of twelve like he was no more than a handful of sand for Mick to remember that was a runt even among runts.

The walk home was quiet, Mr. Mundy carrying the ladder on one side while Mick walked on the other. Finally, he mustered up the courage to say, “’m sorry I got stuck dad. I didn’t mean to pick a fight.”

Mr. Mundy sighed again. “Don’t apologize, son. I don’t blame you.”

“I’ll get ‘em next time though! I promise.”

That stopped the senior Mundy, making him turn and squint under his thick glasses. Mick held his breath, knowing he’d said something wrong, until his father said, “never stoop to their level, Mickey. You’re better than that. I know it.”

Mick bit his lip and looked a way. “Okay. I won’t.” It was the truth. Or at least, he felt like it was.

There was a generous pause where Mr. Mundy scanned over his son. Finally, he nodded, and kept walking towards the house. Mick followed after, ears still red from shame and something else.

* * *

With the last of the toys on the floor picked up, Mikail helped his mother to her room, her balance tottering with every step. She was heavy with the new brother or sister, and Mikail was determined not to let her go anywhere alone lest she hurt either the baby or herself. They made it as far as the bedroom door before she shooed him away, insisting little boys didn’t need to help their mothers change.

Mikail wandered back to the living room only to find his father staring at him from his spot on the couch. Zhanna was leaned up against him, fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth. Papa’s hand gently stroked her hair, the black strands naturally dark even without the added dirt. She looked more like Papa every day, something Mikail couldn’t help but be jealous of.

“ _You take good care of your Mama, Misha_ ,” Papa said, idly picking a stick from Zhanna’s head.

The nickname made Mikail feel good, especially hearing it from Papa’s mouth. It was given to him by Zhanna, her baby mouth not quite able to say _Mikail_ right, but Mama had started calling him by it too. Now his chest puffed up with pride when he said, “ _yes. I am good at taking care of everyone. Zhanna and new baby too._ ”

Papa didn’t smile, and Mikail wondered why he didn’t seem more happy. Instead, he motioned to the hard couch cushion beside him and said, “ _come here Misha. I want to talk with you._ ”

That didn’t seem like a good thing, but a spot next to Papa wasn’t something to be turned down. Mikail clambered over, opposite from his sister as she dozed.

“ _Being a good son is not something to be proud over_ ,” Papa said, resting his hand on Mikail’s shoulder. “ _It is your duty, not something you should demand admiration about._ ”

Mikail tried not to pout. “ _You are just worried I will be stronger than you,_ ” he huffed. 

“ _Strong is useless_ ,” Papa said immediately. “ _Being strong for others, that is what counts._ ”

Mikail didn’t see the difference, but Papa wasn’t saying anything more to him. At first, he thought he might tell Mikail to help get Zhanna ready for bed, but he didn’t, just kept his hand warm against Mikail’s shoulder. Well alright. That was nice too.

* * *

“There you go lad! That’s the way to do it!”

Mr. DeGroot let out another whoop as Tavish tossed the final grenade, hitting his target perfectly. The small dummy made out cloth and sticks went up in a cloud of smoke, the resounding explosion not nearly as loud as Mr. DeGroot’s cheers.

“Ah, you’re well on your way lad,” he said, walking over and grasping Tavish firmly on the shoulder. “We’ll be working you up to sticks of dynamite in no time.”

“I’d…really like that sir.” Tavish shifted on the balls of the feet, having trouble making eye contact with the man next to him. Mr. DeGroot only had one eye as well, but his remaining one was surrounded by scars, a fine film hanging over the pupil.

“Ach, how many time do I have to tell you Tavish?” Mr. DeGroot scolded pleasantly. “Call me Da! A little time apart doesn’t change that.”

“Ah, right. Sorry s-…sorry Da.”

Mr. DeGroot beamed as bright as the sun and Tavish couldn’t help but smile back. It’s not like he was particularly _predisposed_ to being polite to adults all the time…it’s just that these ones were so bloody _nice_. Honestly, interactions were a hell of a lot easier when he just told grownups to piss off.

“Alright lad,” Mr. DeGroot jumped into the next lesson. “Now, for this one…” He paused for dramatic effect. “I’m going to need you to face the other way.”

“What?” Tavish balked as his father shoved another grenade into his hands. “How am I going to see what I’m hitting though?”

“You won’t!” Tavish was staring to think his Da might be a bit balmy. “It’s a blind fire, laddie. Because if there’s one thing loosing my eyes has taught me it’s this: knowing where you’re going is at least as important as knowing where you’ve been.”

With that he gave a wink that made his whole face scrunch. Tavish looked between Mr. DeGroot, the grenade, and back again. He shrugged. Hey, if these was the greatest Demoman in all the Highlands, his advice couldn’t be all crazy.

Tavish turned and chucked.

* * *

Chasing after that ball always seemed to get Jeremy in trouble. Today, it rolled to a gentle stop on the pointed shoes of a sharply dressed man, and Jeremy couldn’t help but think to himself, _oh brother. This is going to be a shitfest._

“Yo! That’s mine!” he demanded when the man bent over and picked up the ball. Stomping over, he told him straight up, “you better give that back, buddy.”

Ignoring the fact he only came up to the man’s navel, Jeremy stuck his chin out and prepared for a fight.

The man tossed the ball in the air and caught, just like any smooth-looking jerk would. He looked just like every other joe-shmo this side of Boston—in fact, he looked almost too average. It was a little unsettling.

“Hmm. It appears you have encountered a dilemma here. I wonder how you will solve it.” Yeesh, even his voice was weirdly normal.

“Oh I’ll show you how I solve it,” Jeremy said raising his bat in a half-threatening manner. He knew he was looking for trouble, but hey, at least this would be a fight his brothers wouldn’t beat him to. “I give you to the count of three, chucklenuts.”

“Relax, _amigo_ ,” the man said suddenly, the sudden slip of Spanish not surprising as when he tossed the ball back to Jeremy. “That was merely a inquiry. I wondered if would consider any other plan of action before resorting to the most obvious choice.”

“Whuh? I mean, uh…” Jeremy had fumbled when the ball had been tossed back to him, and now was left wondering what he was still doing here. “You saying you just go around testing random people?”  
  
The man smiled. It was hard to look at his face; Jeremy’s eyes just seemed to slide right off him. “Hardly. Though, I would like to offer some advice, based your little threat. It matters not your actions, but how professional you go about them.”

Jeremy looked over his shoulder to see if there was some English teacher behind him, but no, the man really did seem to be talking to him. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

With that he turned, leaving the weird man to go about with his weird advice board. I mean who just takes other people’s stuff anyway?

Fuck that guy.


End file.
